


Secret Alphabets

by Dog_Bearing_Gifts



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 1968, And He Gets One!, Dave & Klaus Hargreeves During Vietnam, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, Sort Of, Vietnam War, You know what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 01:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18110558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dog_Bearing_Gifts/pseuds/Dog_Bearing_Gifts
Summary: Dave is ready to take things further, but Klaus has second thoughts.





	Secret Alphabets

“So there I was, chocolate pudding all over my cheeks, all up my ass crack, and all I could think was _God, I am so fucking hungry right now_.” 

Dave laughed. Not the insincere laugh of a pseudo-friend waiting to see how useful he’d wind up being, not the silence and rolled eyes of his siblings—a real one that tipped his head back toward the ceiling. Klaus had been smiling before, but he found himself laughing too. 

“So what’d you do?” 

“Waited for it to dry, peeled it off.” Klaus took a sip of his drink. Alcohol didn’t quite keep the ghosts at bay, not as well as drugs did, but it could quiet them enough to hear his own thoughts. “And let me tell you, that is _not_ something I’d wish on…okay, maybe I’d wish it on a few people.” 

Dave laughed again. “No, I mean, did you?” 

“Did I….oh! Did I eat chocolate pudding off my own ass?” 

“Yeah. You said you were hungry.” 

“Nope. I learned an important lesson that day.” 

“Which is?” 

He took another sip. “That I _do_ have standards after all.” 

“Really.” 

From Luther or Allison, that would have been an insult, a small verbal slap to remind him that what he’d said was a lie. But from Dave, it was the same sort of good-natured jab he might level at any other soldier in their platoon. “Sure I do! I mean, they’re low, but I’ve got ‘em.” 

“Well,” Dave said, leaning against the wall, “glad they’re not _too_ high.” 

Klaus’ stomach fluttered, then twisted. Three different responses, ranging from flirtatious to borderline pornographic, popped into his head, but he didn’t dare voice any of them. Not for any uncertainty on his part—the looks Dave had given him, the ease with which he’d linked his arm through his, the way he stood close enough that Klaus could feel the warmth of his skin through his sleeve, left little doubt toward Dave’s preference. He could retort with any of the three quips he’d thought of—or the far filthier fourth one he’d just come up with—and had a feeling Dave would reply in kind. 

That was the problem. 

Klaus knew he’d let the silence go on too long, filled though it was by the music and mingled hum of dozens of conversations and dancing feet. Part of him would have been content to stand there beside Dave, feeling the closeness of him and drawing comfort from it, but he’d a hunch that any more silence would invite Dave to fill it with a more overt remark than his last. 

“Still no word from home?” 

Klaus gazed down at his drink, tried to resist a sip, and took one anyway. “If they did send me something, it’d probably just be a picture of them all flipping me the bird.” 

“Huh.” 

Letters from home weren’t common, but each man in Klaus’ platoon had received at least one since being shipped out—a few after that briefcase dropped him into their tent, most before that point. Klaus had made the mistake of mentioning that he’d never gotten a single letter since arriving in country, and while he’d had the good sense to be vague about how long that had been, he’d still made himself an object of curiosity for the others. 

No. Not curiosity. Pity. It was quiet, the sort that didn’t often surface in scattered remarks or louder exclamations, but he felt it all the same, pressing around him like the humid heat of the jungle whenever the topic of families surfaced. Each man in his platoon projected it to varying degrees, but it was always strongest coming from Dave. 

“What about your brother….Diego?” 

“Ah, c’mon. Guy’s got a busy schedule, pretending he doesn’t have a family.” 

Not that Klaus could blame him; he’d done much the same. Then again, if Diego vanished for weeks with no word, no one would assume he’d OD’d for the last time in some seedy backroom or alley or coded in an ambulance accompanied by exasperated paramedics unable to revive him. 

“Tell you what,” Dave said, and Klaus looked to him, saw him with his elbow propped against the wall. “I’ll tell _my_ mom to meet us both once we get back to the States. Let her know I’m bringing a friend.” 

Klaus smiled. The notion of returning at the same time as someone you’d met out in the jungle—let alone knowing you’d return at all—was a dream. His first brush with enemy gunfire had been enough to tell him that, even without the mangled ghosts of former brothers in arms to scream the same warning. That first spray of bullets alone had made the notion of dashing for Hazel and Cha-Cha’s briefcase at the first sign of serious trouble look like the world’s worst joke. 

But unlike some dreams, this was one he liked. The thought of being shipped back with Dave, of sitting beside him on a train or whatever else he’d take back to the city from which they both hailed—it was one he could entertain for hours, one he’d hold onto long after the many rips and tears in the logic of it threatened to swallow the daydream whole. 

“No, I’m serious. I’ll let her know you’re coming, make sure she’s waiting. Tell her to bring more cookies.” 

“Fresh ones this time?” 

Dave laughed again. Klaus could listen to that laugh for hours. “If Mom saw the state of those cookies when they got here, she’d buy a ticket to the White House and give Johnson a piece of her mind.” 

Johnson. Right. Old Lyndon B. was president here in 1968. “Didn’t you say you wrote her already?” 

“Ah, yeah. Forgot about that.” Dave grinned. “Now that she’s good and mad about what the Army did to her cookies, the war should be over any day now.” 

The cookies had been little more than stale crumbs and broken pieces when Dave opened the package from home. Even so, the box had summoned every man in that tent like moths to a light bulb, set them hovering around awaiting their turn to snatch a handful of cookie pieces. Klaus hadn’t expected Dave to call him over, too—he was the new guy, after all—but after weeks of legendary Army food and tepid water flavored with iodine and grainy with the bodies of insects it had killed, those stale crumbs had tasted like heaven. 

He noticed Dave moving closer without raising his head, didn’t flinch as he ran a hand through his hair. The thought of what he _should_ do occurred after that first touch, and by then Klaus could only close his eyes. 

Dave’s hand cupped the back of his head, pulled him closer. Not forcefully, not with any sort of coercion, but softly, in invitation. 

“Nobody’s gonna catch us.” 

Klaus opened his eyes. Dave’s voice was just audible over the somewhat muffled music, but it was the note of consolation that got his attention. His smile had turned gentle, comforting. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and it wouldn’t take much to finish the job. 

“It’s okay.” Dave moved a few inches closer, not quite close enough to press his body against his but close enough for Klaus to imagine how it would feel. “Or we can head somewhere a little more private, if you want.” 

Klaus bit back an eager reply. “Dave, I….” 

Fingers brushed through his hair again, and Klaus resisted the urge to trace the line of Dave’s jaw. 

“What?” The question was gentle, like one of those breezes just strong enough to cool the air. “Klaus, what’s wrong?” 

“Why?” 

Dave’s smile had faded a bit, but it curled ever closer toward a frown and Klaus spoke quickly. 

“I mean—why me?” 

“What do you mean, _why you_?” 

Klaus blinked. For a moment, he nearly brought all the unspoken things out into the light, but he didn’t know where to begin or what Dave had guessed already, if he was still wrapped up in the _Maybe he has a problem_ stage or if he was already on his way to _Even a fucking war zone can’t keep this guy clean_. Whatever the case, he’d know sooner rather than later. 

Back in the present, or the future, or whatever the hell it was, Klaus wouldn’t have cared. He hadn’t cared with Antonio, or Alessio—he couldn’t recall which name he’d been given at introduction; all he remembered was a pretty face and a place to sleep, delicious osso bucco and a decaying sense of optimism—a fading belief that there was some good in him, good that Antonio or Alessio or whoever he was could fan into greatness once Klaus stopped longing for the next high. 

Three weeks. Three weeks under his roof, in his bed, and Klaus couldn’t remember his name. 

“Why _not_ you?” 

Klaus could have offered a list—alphabetized, or in order of importance—but the look in Dave’s eyes kept the list in his head, kept any further words there too. 

There was tenderness in that glance—a tenderness he’d seen before, but never so pure, unmitigated by any flicker of disappointment or longing. It wasn’t the kind of look that tried to stare past what he was, what he’d depended on since his teens and what he’d done to get it, to see a few sparks of beauty and kindness underneath. No, from the way Dave looked at him, all of that alleged goodness was all he saw. He gazed at Klaus as if Klaus was fun and joy and love and everything else he deserved. 

Dave leaned in closer, and Klaus knew he ought to pull away. Duck out of his embrace, head back out into the club and leave Dave alone. A little disappointment now would save him from far more heartbreak down the road. 

Dave touched his lips to his. 

It was a gentle kiss, so soft and subdued that for an instant all Klaus felt was the pleasant warmth of Dave’s lips; but soon he was aware of nothing but Dave, the scent and taste and feel of him, of being pulled closer and closer but still _not close enough_. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want the moment to pass, wanted to freeze time and stay forever if it would keep Dave there. 

Too soon, Dave pulled back. Klaus watched that same smile tug at his lips, breath trembling as Dave’s hand brushed his hair, his cheek. For an instant, just an instant, it looked as if Dave might say something; but soon it faded back into a smile so warm Klaus had the sudden urge to cry. 

Love. The word sprang to mind with an ease that surprised him. He hadn’t heard it often, hadn’t said it often, yet there it was, written all over Dave’s face, in his touch. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it, couldn’t guess at why it existed. He could only return it….or reject it. 

Without a word, with scarcely a thought, Klaus pulled Dave close and kissed him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by greenandhazy's post on Tumblr pointing out Dave's clear infatuation with Klaus, reversing the typical dynamic we see when a main character meets their love interest. Found here: http://greenandhazy.tumblr.com/post/183278668920/i-keep-getting-emotional-over-the-scene-with-klaus


End file.
